Page 4 of Inflame

Taking my restaurant list, he rips it in half and then into fourths. “I’m boycotting all lists. They are offensive.”

I glare. “Offensive?”

“Yes.”

“Can you get the hotel you booked to do something special in Graham and Angie’s room? Maybe flowers, gift basket, and bottle of champagne? Oh, I bet Angie would love chocolate-dipped fruit upon arrival. Maybe matching robes and an in-house massage certificate? Or get the cleaning staff to make towel animals like they do on cruise ships? She would probably—”

“I miss Quiet Claire,” he says seriously, but the corner of his lip is elevated, giving him a lopsided smile. “I enjoyed her for the three minutes I knew her.”

“I. Am. Done.”

I have had enough of his sabotage and little comments. I slap the folds of my vision board down onto the center panel and snatch it up against my chest. Nic does not appreciate all of the things I have done to try to make this trip special. Everything is going to go to shit because we have basically confirmed zero plans. I have no idea where we are staying. Who knows, maybe we don’t even have a place to stay yet. I am beyond my breaking point, and I’m done swallowing my own feelings for the sake of not crossing some arbitrary line drawn between family and friendship.

I storm out of the cafe and stomp my way to my car. I reach into my—

Shit.

I left my purse inside and it has my keys. There goes my dramatic exit scene, meant to prove a point that Nic will most likely miss. I reluctantly turn around and make my way back into the cafe, finding him right where I left him. He has my purse in the palm of his hands, extending it like it’s an offering.

“Thank you,” I mutter. “See you at the airport.”

“Looking forward to it. Oh, and Claire?”

I stop and turn back around to look at him. “What?”

“Don’t worry, I’m pretty fond of Disorganized Claire too.”

“Shut up, you clown.”

2

NIC

I lean back in my chair and rub at the tense muscles at the back of my neck. I can still smell the lingering scent of Claire’s cupcake lip gloss. How can someone so extroverted look so innocent wearing pastels and pigtails? She isn’t fooling me. I know better.

The bigger question is, how am I going to survive an entire trip to Vegas with her? Claire is so different from any woman I have met before. Since Tara shattered my view of the female population by cheating on me while we were engaged, I have kept my heart from further damage by only engaging with a certain type of woman. It is easier that way. Besides, what guy with a working dick doesn’t love a bad girl?

Most women flirt and are overly sexual when it comes to getting my attention. While I know firsthand that Claire is the wild one in comparison to her best friend, Angie, both women have caused my brother a ton of stress—and by default me too. Graham recruited me with my cyber privacy and security skills to plant trackers on them and their cars. With Claire’s spontaneous behavior and wild ideas, paired with Angie’s lack of real self-preservation instincts, it was one hundred percent necessary. Soon my big bro will be tying the knot with the love of his life, and I’m doubtful his possessive and jealous tendencies will diminish. If anything, they are going to increase exponentially.

Graham and I used to run a secret company that specialized in catching cheaters. It was extremely lucrative and involved some less-than-legal evidence gathering techniques. Now, Graham’s jewelry company, ironically named Jealousy, houses a division meant for securing trackers inside necklaces, watches, and bracelets. Being able to do this legally requires some creativity in the contracts we secure with clients. On the personal level, the ability to locate those we care about is a luxury from a security standpoint. With Angie and Claire, I have to make sure my tracking capabilities are not thwarted by a piece of jewelry that can be easily removed or only used for special occasions.

I tell myself that I’m essentially doing something good and productive with my nefarious skillset—and most of the time I am. However, it is in the dark moments of my mind that I want to slip back into my shady ways, where I would track others for entertainment or for the sake of testing out a product. Treating this whole thing like a sport lumps me in the same category as criminals, and despite acting like I don’t give a rat’s ass about anyone’s opinion, I still have to sleep with myself.

If it weren’t for all of the trackers Graham and I had on her, Angie would have been dead after getting herself involved in a drug ring takedown that I was an FBI informant for back around Christmas. Having that amount of valuable information about a person’s exact location is hard to part with, even if the danger no longer exists. Old habits are hard to break, and my brother’s stubbornness and control tendencies definitely just add to the addiction.

I get up from my seat at the corner table and refresh my coffee. I then open up my laptop and log in to my VPN to keep myself as anonymous as possible. If Claire knew what I do for shits and giggles, she would lose it on me. Her sassy attitude doesn’t scare me; it excites me. I wait for the map to load and then lean back in my chair as the little red dot moves steadily down the streets of Portland. I expect her to head back to her apartment that she shares with her boyfriend, Ethan Maxwell, a day trader and former real estate broker. Instead, I find her at the ATM beside Hank’s Market. She doesn’t linger there long and is back in her car. I stare at my screen as if I’m watching the most entertaining show. Claire enters the Portland Financial Bank and stays there for twenty minutes, followed by a trip to the Japanese Garden. It is easy to lose track of time watching all the sites she frequents, wondering what her motive is for visiting them in the first place.

I log out of the VPN, pack up my belongings, and then place my empty mug in the dirty dish bin on the top of the trashcan. A moment of guilt flashes over me, but I tell myself—as I usually do—that my tactics are for the benefit of others. Although Graham and I reassure his fiancée that all of the danger that followed her last year is over, neither of us is stupid enough to not keep tabs on his woman and the best friend she spends most of her time with. You don’t get to be as influential and as powerful as we are by sitting back and waiting for danger to arrive at our doorsteps before making a move. Being proactive—rather than reactive—is key.

It is difficult giving up access when it is so easy to achieve. Even though my cheaters network days are over, those close to me often have me check out their loved ones. With wealth and standing comes insecurity and paranoia. Being in love is putting yourself in a vulnerable position to get hurt. I will be fine in this lifetime just quenching my thirst on women willing to cut the strings that would typically be attached. I do not need another Tara fiasco. She ruined me for every woman who is stupid enough to try to get close to me.

I exit the cafe and walk the three blocks to Hoffman Headquarters, my brother’s pride and joy. He started his jewelry company from the ground up and has recently acquired the family hotel. His escort agency, Entice, is a company I run and pretty much own. We co-own and manage so many different projects and business ventures that it is sometimes difficult to remember who holds the majority for deciding votes, if we don’t check our cheat sheet. Entice just isn’t something that excites me anymore. It is dangerous for a person like me to grow bored. Thus, I am yearning for a bigger project or job to focus my energy toward.

I need to nurture my talents better and work at erasing the ingrained mindset I developed while working for the FBI. I no longer need to seclude myself from others for the sake of protecting them from the collateral damage that could erupt from someone discovering I was working undercover. While I’m thankful I never had to testify or go to trial being an informant, I would have loved the chance to pass the fuckers who tried to bring me and my family down, and punch them in the face when those guarding them turned their backs. It would be worth a visit to prison to release some pent-up aggression. Just for closure purposes, of course.

I badge into HH, wave to the three security guards on the main entrance patrol, and make my way over to the elevator banks. Graham isn’t expecting me, but he should be used to me just popping into his office by now, since he knows I keep tabs on his schedule. It is a hobby of mine knowing what is going on around me. Plus it annoys the fuck out of him that I can still infiltrate his fleet of security—from the inside out—just in my spare time.

I make it up to his floor and wave at Kylie, who looks about as used to me being here as the rest of the staff.

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